Certainly, here's the translation of the given text:

Indeed, it was an audacious existence that could only be described as quintessentially like a weed—Latins sighed, feeling as though he saw many familiar faces aligned there.

When he realized it, he had already walked a long way. Yet, no matter where the wind carries its seeds to plant roots, a weed remains a weed. Though the color of the leaves and the thickness of the stem may change a little, weeds never transform into trees or flowers.

"Really, no matter where I am, I can only live my life my way, huh?"

Latins clicked his tongue, though it wasn't said to anyone in particular, it felt as though everyone said it. However, that click of the tongue lacked the previously gloomy and contrary tone. What remained was the considerable trouble that had been forced upon him and the determination to accomplish it. And thus, after having accepted the situation—

"Hey, there's movement."

The one who raised his voice was one of the ruffians posted on the plains along with Latins. They were people from the underworld of Flanders, of the same ilk — no, even purer villains than Gaston, Cambary, and Latins. It's strange to have them as comrades, but they were reliable here, seasoned in violence.

In response to their reaction, Latins looked towards the forest. If everything went according to plan, the helmeted guys and their comrades, driven out by smoke, would come running out from there. Latins and his group would crush them with sheer numbers—

"Eh?"

In the next moment, what shot out from the forest wasn't the helmeted guys. —It was a shell. —No, that's not exactly correct. More accurately, it was a large tree hurled with the force of a shell, spinning rapidly as it flew towards Latins' camp.

The tree was thicker than Gaston’s torso and over ten meters long—such an uncharming tree projectile aimed straight for the center of the camp. Seeing this, the ruffians raised their voices and hurriedly tried to escape. However—

"El Gore!"

A loud explosion echoed in the sky, and a bright red fireflower bloomed in the blue sky. It shattered the large flying tree into pieces, transforming the power of the shell that would have normally created a large hole in the camp into something no more painful than scattered fragments. And it was Lachins who, pointing a finger towards the sky, accomplished this.

"Don't be scared, you guys! In times like these, the one who gets scared loses! You've been told this all the time, haven't you!"

Shouting this to those faltering now, Lachins drew the knife from his waist. Turning his head to those around while pointing the blade towards the forest, he asked, "Got it?" Honestly, because of his own struggles, the roughnecks' attitude toward Lachins, who was tasked with organizing the scene, was disrespectful. He needed to dispel that here.

"You should see from that, we drew the lucky one! Now, the helmeted guys will come out from there. There's no time to let your guard down—"

Just as he was about to declare there wasn't, a voice shouted, "Hey!!" and the roughnecks' attention was diverted again. Feeling irritated by this, Lachins scowled with bloodshot eyes and faced forward.

It was the moment when artillery as large as, or greater than before, began to fly towards them.

"Goddamn it!!"

Right after his curse, multiple fireflowers bloomed in the sky—and the ones that got through blew up the camp. Amidst the chaos and drumming impact, Lachins clicked his tongue as he saw many roughnecks being blown backward, and he pointed his knife toward the forest again. The situation had drastically changed. If they continued to repurpose the artillery on-site at this rate, Lachins and his group would be the ones overwhelmed.

"—Let's go, don't fall behind!!"

Shouting with a fervor that seemed to flip his voice, Lachins cried out as he charged in. By doing so, he inspired the fighting spirit—not his own, but of those around him.

It's a common scenario, but getting hit first in any brawl, no matter how tough you are, is a bad strategy. Strangely, the moment someone gets hit, even the most violent person loses some strength. The idea that the more you get hurt or bleed, the stronger you become is just a perception; in reality, humans become weaker with each blow they take.

This is true for emotions as well. Right now, the Latins were hit first in an unexpected way. They must overwrite this weakness with momentum.

And then—

"Uooooh!! Keep going!!"

The hot-blooded comrades are simple-minded, and quickly get inspired by Latin's emotional voice. They proceed with intense energy, chasing after Latin who is leading the charge, weapons in hand, advancing towards the forest, closer and closer. While feeling their presence at his back, Latin supports it further with theatrics—

"Al Gore!!"

With his hand reaching toward the sky, Latin chants in a voice like blood is being spilled. In an instant, what appeared above his head was a huge, enormous fireball—fire attribute magic of the Gore series, its power ascending from the base to El, Ul, and the pinnacle being Al.

Those with even the slightest knowledge about magic know this, but just the fact that Latin chanted it and produced a massive fire is a noteworthy achievement.

With a cheer, the morale of the roughs noticeably rises, and Latin, as if to propel it further, floats the fireball above his head into the sky, purposely sending it soaring high. Naturally, aiming at that, the next wave of fallen trees from within the forest targets the fireball. No matter how many trees are incinerated, they aim to obstruct that fireball—

"Fools"

With a decorated tongue at the tip, Latin sticks it out and taunts the eager enemy. As many shells as they like were launched from the forest, but most resulted in misses. This is because, with the very first shot, the dummy that only looked like Al Gore, stretched flat and extinguished, was shattered, and the remaining ammunition only futilely gouged the plains.

All of this was to exhaust the enemy's ammunition on intercepting the fake Al Gore, minimizing the damage from attacks raining down on Latin and the roughs.

The plan worked, and Latin and his comrades burst into the forest all at once.

"The initial barrage did reduce their numbers somewhat...!"

However, thanks to Latins' support, the fifty-man band of roughnecks charged in almost unscathed. Just like that—

"—Oh dear, Heinkel-sama, you rushed and let them get on board, didn't you?"

At the moment he heard that sweet and carefree female voice, Latins' feet came to a halt. His whole body was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, causing him to stop in his tracks—no, that wasn’t it. He was indeed overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, but it wasn’t of his own will that he stopped.

Suddenly, he lost all freedom of movement. And it wasn't just Latins. The fifty roughnecks who charged into the forest with him were all simultaneously affected. The one who did this was—

"No matter how good I am at handling one-against-many, there are limits to what I can do, really."

The red-haired woman peered down at the halted Latins and his group through the gaps in the trees. The slender woman dressed in a somewhat Wa-style maid outfit looked at the men, whose movements were immobilized, raising voices of bewilderment and anger—floating in mid-air.

The woman's figure was high among the trees. But she wasn't using the trunks or branches for support. She stood boldly in the empty air, smiling as she watched the immobile Latins and his men. Latins noticed this as he moved his barely functioning neck and eyes to confirm.

"I can bind roughly up to about a hundred people simultaneously, right?"

Despite her incredible combat skill, this woman, whose temperament was even worse, was accompanying the helmeted man they needed to take down.

△▼△▼△▼△

—The attack could be described as a fallen tree cannon, utilizing the trees Heinkel had cut down.

To achieve that without the extraordinary mana of the 'Divine Dragon,' it required an unprecedented level of ingenuity, incomparable to making stir-fry with available ingredients.

"Seriously, Al-sama really overworks me, don't they? It's a cruel use beyond harsh."

With the cooperation of Yae, who couldn't help but insert complaints, several massive trees cut down by Heinkel were levitated in the air to prepare a launch platform. For the actual launching, all of Aldebaran's scientific knowledge was mobilized and—

"Old man, pull your arm with all your might on my signal. With all your might."

"It's not just about that woman; I have something to say about your attitude too, Aldebaran!"

"Look, 'Dragon's Blood,' 'Dragon's Blood.'"

"―Hurry up and give the signal!"

In the end, despite the necessity of capital investment for the application of scientific knowledge, Aldebaran relied on the brute strength of Heinkel, who was angered by the poor treatment. They were driven by smoke and moved through the forest, falling into the opponent's trap. ― Naturally, outside, the elite were lying in wait, prepared to clash with Aldebaran and his group. They had to reduce those numbers to some extent.

"Old man!"

On the signal, Heinkel gritted his teeth and put strength into his arms. His muscles swelled, and despite lamenting over his lack of talent while being a drunk, he achieved a feat of strength that Aldebaran could not reach ― with fierce force, he launched the fallen tree cannon. First, the initial test shot, followed by the second and third, and it would be fortunate if this made the opponent retreat. If not―,

"Hold their attention―"

He was supposed to crush the noses of those brave men. However―,

"Is Heinkel-sama scared of such a fireball... is he a beast~?"

The moment a massive fireball floated in the sky, so large it was visible even from outside the forest, Heinkel, visibly shaken, fired the fallen tree cannon without waiting for Aldebaran's signal. As a result, they failed to annihilate the majority of the enemy, leading to the opponent infiltrating the forest.

For this, Heinkel was prodded by Yae, and it couldn’t be helped. ― After all, she was the one who had to clean up the mess from that mistake.

Around fifty enemies who had infiltrated were stalled solely by Yae's skill. ― By the weapons that extended from the five fingers of Yae's hands, spread throughout the area. It was―,

"―Threads, you say?"

Breathing heavily, the man who realized what had immobilized him was a familiar thug. Indeed, he was one of the thugs who followed Felt, Latinus. To his words, Yae, floating in the air, expressed her admiration, "Oh~."

"Your insight is remarkable. Of course, it's not just ordinary weaving thread, you know? It's what you'd call a shinobi technique. Well, I've never seen anyone else who can use it besides me."

Yae, who said this, was looking down at the men from a high position in the air. Although she looked like she was floating without any support, she actually had a foothold. This was the thread she had woven throughout the forest; the steel wire technique using this was Yae's specialty.

"So-called 'thread manipulation'... It's one of those romantic weapons I quite favor."

"Oh, how rare~. Did Lord Al praise me? Will spears rain down tomorrow?"

"Don't worry, I was planning to say that I like the weapon, but the user is another matter."

Yae stuck out her tongue at that reply. Without mentioning her attitude, Aldebaran also looked down on the enemies below—using Yae's thread power, he had climbed up into the tree to look down at them. Even squinting, it was almost impossible to capture the essence of Yae's steel thread. It was intricately woven like a spider's web, ensnaring and completely restraining Rachins and his men.

Binding everything freely and skillfully handling it is Yae's true skill. The steel thread's usage is not just about sealing the enemy's movements, but, like the felled tree cannon earlier, she can devise ways to cut down and lift a large tree, and make it spin and fly by pulling the thread. Wrapping many threads around Heinkel's arm and making him pull like a carriage horse was also part of that mechanism's function.

In any case, despite its visual impact, the fallen tree cannon had caused little damage. Most of the enemies ended up passing undisturbed, but in reality, if that number had been free to attack, it would have been quite a struggle for Aldebaran without Yae.

"When it's not a one-on-one battle, the difficulty level suddenly skyrockets for me."

As he did at the Pleiades Watchtower, Aldebaran, who can handle the tag team of Garfiel and Ezzo even in simple combat, would have faced a different scenario if there had been one more person present. Even if the victory wouldn't waver, the number of attempts could easily have shifted significantly. In that fight, he taunted Garfiel as much as possible to avoid a two-on-one situation and steered the confrontation toward a one-on-one in that space.

Aldebaran, if it were a one-on-one fight, could find a way to win even against Reinhardt. However, as the number of opponents increases, the method to find victory becomes a challenge of astronomical proportions. Therefore, the presence of Yae, who excels in fighting multiple opponents, was appreciated in place of Aldebaran. Furthermore, there is another benefit to Yae's skills.

"Hey, what do we do with these guys? ...Do we kill them all?"

Before explaining that benefit, it was Heinkel who voiced this question. Unlike Aldebaran and Yae, who escaped into the air using threads, Heinkel, who remained on the ground, looked bitterly at the captives, Latynes and the others ensnared by steel threads. Heinkel's sword dulls against formidable opponents, but his bitter expression here likely stemmed from a different reason than such cowardice. In response to that cowardice, Aldebaran shook his head.

"No, there's no need to kill them. It's wiser to leave them injured. Dead people don't require anything, but the living need care. That way, it divides their attention."

"Yeah, is that so? That's true. I was thinking the same thing."

"Oh my, the two uncles have reached an understanding, making Yae-chan feel left out."

Heinkel's obvious relief at Aldebaran's response was noticeable. Nevertheless, not mentioning it might have been Yae's own form of mercy. In reality, weakening the opponent's strength is crucial for Aldebaran and the others. For that purpose, they must act wisely rather than recklessly taking lives.

So—

"Heh."

"Huh? What's that? Did you feel relieved to hear you'd be spared, thug?"

"Who's relieved? You drunkard. ...Really, in everything besides the hair and eyes, you resemble that guy."

"――――"

Grinning broadly, the thug—no, Latynes—glared at Heinkel. It was not just the fierceness of his glance, but the content of Latynes' words that left Heinkel silent. From that reaction, Aldebaran judged it was best not to let the conversation continue further. Intending to intervene and get in the way, he leaned out from the threads wrapped around the trees—

"And you too, helmet guy!"

"Oh?"

"You and this drunkard are both too complacent. Suffer more hardships, idiot."

Hearing this abusive remark, he was momentarily taken aback by its lack of substance and irrelevance. However, he soon realized that Lachins' eyes were not those of a man who does meaningless things. At that moment, he understood that the aim was at Aldebaran's bewilderment.

And then, it was too late. The price for that slowness would be paid immediately.

"—What, you're as dull as a pig."

As soon as these words reached him, 'The Pig King's' cannon-like punch struck, and Aldebaran was crushed into a daze simultaneously.